


protect me from what i want

by fleuravis



Series: with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah [11]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-24 08:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleuravis/pseuds/fleuravis
Summary: Seven years later, Graves and Credence meet again.(From Credence's point of view.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back!! i delayed posting this for a while as i was finishing up posting my other fic, [little beast.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16710970/) but here we go with credence's pov on the events of [this fic!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294804/)

Credence’s heart flutters madly like a hummingbird trapped in his chest. He can’t stop his eyes from darting around the bar, though he’s managed to school his face and posture into something calm and contained — at least, he assumes he has, because if his outsides looked like his insides he’s certain somebody would have called an ambulance by now.

He’s been half-avoiding and half-seeking Percy since he caught a glimpse of him on his way to the restroom. It felt like all his organs jumped inside of him him, stirring up an unpleasantly familiar feeling: that deep-seated panic when you know it’s over just as well as you know that there’s nothing left you can do. He has a drink, and then another. He stays by the bar where he can keep the entirety of the room on surveillance.

He should leave. He will leave, as soon as he’s finished this drink.

Somebody’s speaking to him, and it takes a moment for the soft cadence of the voice to register. It drowns in the air like too much reverb on his mic, like when he turns up his Strymon Blue Sky all the way and floats in the resonance.

“Credence?”

“Sorry, Tina. What’s up?”

She smiles. “You look like you’re miles away. Everything okay?”

“Shouldn’t have had another drink,” he lies easily. “It makes me antsy sometimes. Where’s Newt?”

“Sampling Jacob’s new muffins.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be tucking him in within the hour, I’m sure.”

Credence grins. “I would try one, but considering what his brownies did to me…”

“And to Queenie’s bathroom floor,” Tina reminds him. “Not as good coming back up.” She glances over her shoulder. “I should find him. I’ll catch you in a bit.”

Probably not, he doesn’t say. He leans back against the bar again, jittery the moment she leaves. The moment he loses his distraction. He scans the room, but it’s dark and everybody looks the same from far away. He should have worn his glasses.

He finishes his drink in one long sip and heads out into the noisy crowd, mumbling quiet _excuse me_ s to every person he slinks by. Just as he starts to convince himself that Percy’s gone, he sees him by the door. More specifically, at the door, about to walk out of it.

His fingers tap a nervous rhythm against his leg. He sucks in a quick breath and makes his decision in a fraction of a second.

“Percy?”

For a second, he thinks Percy didn’t hear him. It’s almost a relief. It’s loud, after all, and he says it as he’s approaching, and his words could have been lost — but then Percy turns around, and he’s momentarily frozen. All at once, he’s fully twenty nine and simultaneously a child again. The weight of seven years apart comes crashing down around him, and more than ever he notices the differences: the grey hairs around Percy’s temple and the soft lines in his face. The harder set of his own jaw and the steadiness of his hands.

“Hello, Credence.”

“I kinda thought you might be here,” he says, and it’s probably the stupidest thing he’s ever said. He looks back at the bar and longs to return to his safe haven with a stool and a drink and nobody speaking to him or acknowledging his existence. Queenie is there now, with everybody flocking around her. It’s her birthday, after all. Of course they’d both be here.

“You look good,” Percy says. “Really good.”

Credence swallows, suddenly insecure. He smiles regardless. “Thanks, Percy.”

The silences between them stretch for miles. Finally, Percy looks at the door, and then at his feet, and then back at Credence. “Uh, I was just about to—”

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

He hates himself. More than he hates Percy. It’s been seven years. Seven _years._

But for some ungodly reason Percy says yes, and within twenty minutes they’re standing outside of Credence’s apartment. Because taking Percy home feels like second nature, even though they’ve never been here before. _Why don’t you bring him inside and fuck him? That’s what you_ do _right? That’s how you make people like you._

Credence has to actively hold back from telling himself to shut up out loud. Instead, he invites Percy in, against every bit of logic he’s got. Being with Percy is strange enough, but being in his apartment with Percy is… well. His hands shake when he goes to the kitchen to pour them a drink, which ends up being water, because Percy is _sober._

He managed to do it after they broke up. Couldn’t be bothered when Credence was suffering the brunt of it.

Credence forces the bitter thoughts out of his head. Seven years. _Seven years._

He can’t stop babbling on about his apartment like an idiot. As if Percy cares. He’s probably got one ten times nicer. Twice as big. How _cute,_ Credence’s framed posters and carefully dusted shelves, his shiny new TV and a bedroom he rarely sleeps in, the eight hundred square feet he keeps neurotically clean.

Maybe he won’t shut up about the apartment because he’s trying to forget that he just told Percy he went to rehab. Why he’d ever volunteer that information, he has no idea — it’s like Percy’s presence sends all his common sense out the window, leaving it open for every ugly, humiliating detail of his life to come inside.

And then, of course, he told Percy that he’s _kind of_ dating someone. God, this was a mistake. 

_Kind of._ Yeah, because two years and moving cities and sleeping together practically every night is _kind of_ dating. Credence fights off the insidious thought that maybe that _kind of_ is what he was trying to preserve when he told Caleb they couldn’t get an apartment together here. Not yet.

_No, sweetheart, you have to understand, a year from now I’m going to reunite with my boyfriend from seven years ago and I won’t be able to bear telling him I live with you, you have to understand that so long as he’s near me you’ll always be a ‘kind of’._

Say something else. Say anything else.

He asks where Percy’s living, and Percy asks if he’s seen Tina and Newt. He recognizes the preemptive displeasure in his tone and lies easily in response, offering up some excuse about his move to Chicago making him lose touch. That much is true enough, but he leaves out the part where he and Caleb spend practically every Sunday night having dinner at Tina and Newt’s apartment. How they all just went on a trip to the West Coast in April. Of course he doesn’t say that. He lies and lies and lies.

“Who’d you move to Chicago with?”  
  
And God, it doesn’t take much to send Credence into a brief moment of blindness, visceral memories bursting like a camera flash before his eyes: Draco above him at the hostel, Percy slamming his head against the floor of Tina and Newt’s guest bedroom all those Christmases ago, the room he shared with Draco after Percy left, the way they kissed with hunger that he understood was simply a byproduct of Credence’s broken heart, the long freeway drive with The Pixies on Draco’s car stereo as they headed up the I-80 to Chicago.

_It’ll be different,_ Draco had promised. _So much different from New York. It’ll flip everything right around. You’ll forget all of it._

If only he had.

He knows it’s a mistake before he says it, but he says it anyway. At the mention of the name, Percy’s mouth tightens into a straight line. That familiar flutter travels from Credence’s belly to his chest, caught somewhere between the feeling before you cry and the feeling before you laugh.

Panic, his therapist calls it. Fight or flight. 

Credence has never been one for a fight.

So he flees, back over to the kitchen, a safe haven: separated by the wide countertop from Percy and the weight of his own words. He runs his glass under the cool water at the sink, turning it over and over. It’s spotless already, nearly sparkling under the bright kitchen lights, but he keeps turning it. The chill of the water on his knuckles grounds him. 

“I miss you, Percy.”

God, he really hopes Percy will leave. Credence can’t stand another minute in his own presence, not when he’s like this. And he’s only like this when Percy’s around. Why did he _say_ that? His head is an open cage and his mouth is a dangerous animal.

Percy just stares at him. Regret burns in his chest like when he drinks soda too fast. He swallows it down. “I mean—”

“I think I should go,” Percy says. He’s already standing up. Credence blinks, and then Percy is at the door. Credence just stares down at the glass in his hands. He doesn’t turn around.

The door clicks shut and it reverberates in the room. Tape delay. Credence drops the glass and it shatters on the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so in my head caleb is dane dehaan, but [specifically this exact version of dane dehaan.](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/36/d4/7b/36d47b7bb0ffa4f49ba150803a42fcaa.jpg) do with that what you will.

“I saw Percy last night.”

God knows what makes him say it. Credence pauses at the kitchen counter in Caleb’s apartment where he’s pouring after-dinner coffee into two mugs and it just comes rushing out. Caleb’s drying dishes at the sink but he turns and sets the towel down on the countertop. His eyebrows raise, almost unnoticeably, but at this point Credence has razor sharp detection for any change in temperament. Any threat of danger, no matter how small.

As if Caleb could ever be a _threat_.

“Oh?”

Credence shrugs and stares down at the mugs in his hands. “Yeah.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Seems good, I don’t know. He’s been sober.”

“Do you believe him?”

Credence’s tone comes out rough. Mean. “Of course I believe him.”

Caleb holds his hands up defensively. “I don’t know him, Cre. I only know what you’ve told me.”

Credence softens slightly and hands over one of the coffee cups. “You made dinner. Stop doing the dishes.”

“It’s my apartment,” Caleb says, but he takes the coffee in one hand and cups the back of Credence’s head with the other to kiss him. He tastes like tomato sauce. Credence flutters his tongue.

Caleb laughs, bright against Credence’s teeth. “Is there a reason you want to tell me about seeing your ex boyfriend?”

Credence pulls back and narrows his eyes. “No. Just thought I should be honest. Right?”

“Right,” Caleb says softly. He backs Credence up against the counter and sets his coffee down so he can grab Credence’s face with both hands and kiss him deeper. Credence nearly spills his own coffee all over himself but quickly puts it down beside Caleb’s and lets himself be kissed.

Caleb is on his knees in seconds and Credence giggles as his sweatpants are tugged down to his ankles. “ _Caleb_.”

“ _Credence._ ” Caleb smirks and matches his tone. Credence bites down on his lip and hums as Caleb presses his mouth to the thin fabric of his underwear, hands squeezing his bare thighs, blue eyes blinking up at him. Then he’s tugging Credence’s underwear down too, and his cock is freed, and Caleb’s mouth is on it, and —

_“Fuck._ ” Credence groans as Caleb swallows him down. His tongue curls expertly as he drags Credence closer and closer. Caleb always gets him off so fast, and Credence fucking hates it. But he also loves it. He makes an embarrassing squeaky sound as Caleb pulls back just to tease him. He can _feel_ Caleb’s grin. 

Credence grabs him by the hair and pulls him off and upwards to kiss, tongue on tongue, teeth on teeth. He flips Caleb around so he’s half-bent over the counter. 

“Good?” Credence mumbles, cause it’s all he can manage with all the blood drained from his head and pooling in his dick. Caleb confirms with a little nod and squirms to help Credence pull down his pants and boxers all in one tug. He kicks them aside and Credence nudges his legs apart, pressing the head of his cock up to Caleb’s opening. “Still good?”

Caleb braces his hands on the countertop and turns his head. He smiles. “Still good.”

Credence pushes in, all in one go. He lets out a ragged moan at the feeling of Caleb’s insides clenched tight around him, warm and soft and so lovely. Caleb arches his back and takes him so well. Like he always does. Credence still feels a little guilty every time he does it, like he’s being dishonest. Like he’s taking something that doesn’t belong to him. He puts his hands over Caleb’s on the countertop and traces his thumbs over his knuckles. Presses a kiss to his clothed back. Bites back the apologies that always swell in his throat.

He comes inside of Caleb with a soft, choked moan. Caleb reaches back blindly and grabs at his hip, holding him there. His breath comes out hard as Credence’s hips stutter and he keels forward, gasping against Caleb’s shoulder. When his body stops spasming he reaches around to Caleb’s cock to stroke him quick and tight until he spills all over the kitchen counter. Caleb’s hand fumbles and squeezes harder at Credence’s hip.

They stay there for a moment, breathing in tandem, back and forth. Caleb turns to kiss him. 

“I love you,” Credence says.

“I love you too. Wanna watch a movie?”

“Yeah.” Credence sighs and flops against him, boneless, letting Caleb hold him up. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Course,” Caleb says fondly, squeezing him around the waist. “I’m gonna take a shower. Don’t do the dishes.”

But Credence goes to the sink the moment Caleb lets him go, elbow-deep in soapy water. He takes his time cleaning the stain from the countertop and smirks over his shoulder as Caleb sighs, exaggerated, and goes into the bathroom. Credence washes and dries the dishes as he hears the shower go on. He considers joining Caleb, but he doesn’t. With his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the silver scars on his arms shine under the fluorescent lights.

Caleb is still in the shower when he finishes the dishes. He puts them all away, slow and methodical, and drains the sink. He wipes his hands on the dish towel and glances at his phone. 

They could just catch up. That would be fine. He wants to know what Percy’s been doing. He wants Percy to know how well _he’s_ been doing.

He chews on his lip and unlocks his phone. He doesn’t have Percy’s number saved, but he has it memorized. Of course he does. If Percy’s changed it, then maybe it wasn’t meant to be. 

He regrets the text the moment he sends it.

When Caleb comes out of the bathroom, Credence’s head is so far away that he doesn’t even notice him approaching.

“Baby?”

His head jerks upwards. “Sorry.”

“What’re you thinking about?” Caleb drops down onto the couch and grabs the remote from the coffee table. Credence tucks his phone into his pocket and goes to join him. Gatsby comes trotting out from the bedroom and hops up onto the couch to settle in against Credence’s legs.

“Would it be okay if I met up with Percy again?”

Caleb frowns. “Of course it’s okay. You don’t have to ask for permission.”

“I know,” Credence says softly. He rests his head on Caleb’s shoulder and stares at the screen where he’s scrolling through Netflix categories. “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Caleb tucks an arm around his waist to pull him closer. “You know, I need to make a decision on that apartment by next week.”

Credence closes his eyes. “Okay.”

“We can talk about it tomorrow if you want.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Funny or scary?”

Credence hums. “Scary.”

The screen lights up with the opening credits to some trashy horror movie and Credence squirms down until his head is in Caleb’s lap, resting on the soft fabric over his legs.

Gatsby barks once, short and sharp, and Credence shushes him quickly. Caleb’s building has a strict no-pet rule, specifically no-dog, but his landlord was a fan of Credence’s and has a crush on Caleb. Everyone has a crush on Caleb. When Credence first met Mark, chatting with Caleb in the hallway outside the door to his apartment, the man wore his disappointment like a second skin. Caleb says he’s 35, but he looks about 18. But it's not like Credence can say much about that, considering he still gets mistaken for a teenager.

But Credence introduced himself, and Mark’s face lit up sun-bright as he started to gush obnoxiously about Macusa’s first record. Credence couldn’t un-tighten his smile, despite his best efforts. Regardless, when Caleb came home with Gatsby, Mark had ushered him hastily inside and murmured _just keep him quiet, okay?_

Credence pets him and scratches at his soft head while Caleb does the same to him. It almost makes him laugh. The screams in the movie are dulled at low volume, and Credence’s eyes get heavy watching the screen sideways. He’s asleep before the first jump scare.

  


——

  
  


The next day is busy, but still Credence’s mind manages to wander to dinner, to Percy, to the panic that’s slowly settling into his bones. If Caleb notices, he doesn’t mention it. They go for breakfast in the morning and he keeps the conversation going with funny little stories from the recent interviews he’s done while Credence nods and hums and stares down at his food, barely eating.

It’s getting cold outside. October is slowly sweeping in to settle over the bare dregs of September, and the wind is against them the whole walk from the diner to the shopping center. The last thing Credence needs is to run monotonous errands that leave his head wide open for the invasive Percy-thoughts to come marching in, but he’s not about to go mope around at home and leave Caleb to do everything himself.

So they shop, they go to the bank, they pick up mail. Caleb even drags him to a movie, which does a decent job distracting him until they step back out onto the street, blinking in the disorienting sun. Credence glances at his phone. 5:15. 

“Shit,” he mumbles. “I have to… I mean, I’m supposed to meet Percy for dinner.”

“Okay. I’ll be home if you want to come over after.”

“Okay. Um, yeah. I’ll get a cab.” Credence squints in the sunlight, staring out over the busy street. His head is floating away. He thinks he might pass out. Maybe he should walk out into oncoming traffic and let the streetcar run him down. At least then he’d have an excuse not to show up.

Just as he’s about to hail a cab, he turns back to Caleb. “Will you come with me?”

Caleb winces. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Please,” Credence doesn’t mean for it to be a whisper, or such a pitiful one at that, but he can’t help it. He feels like he’s going to break down crying in the middle of this busy sidewalk. “I’m just scared.”

Caleb considers him for a moment, and then he nods. “If you think it won’t be a problem.”  
  
“Thank you,” Credence breathes. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

But the moment they sit down, it’s decidedly not fine. Percy won’t say a word about it, of course, because he’s all _calm_ and _agreeable_ now. Sober. Grown up. Settled into the kind of life Credence always longed for: simple and easy and gentle. And here he is, the wild card, popping up just to veer him off course. Credence reads all of it in the clench of Percy’s jaw, the way he grips too tight on his fork. Whenever he makes a sudden move, Credence nearly flinches.

Caleb’s hand, invisible and silent, moves to rest against his thigh. Credence, already starting to float, is dragged back down to earth.

“How’s Modesty?”

“Oh, she’s great!” At least this he can talk about without Percy’s obvious disdain. “She just turned eighteen. I moved her into an apartment about a year ago. She’s starting college this month and she’s got a really sweet boyfriend.”

And for some reason he’s launching into the story of how he met the kid, when he and Caleb were at the movies, and Percy looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. It _hurts._

After the topic of Modesty is exhausted, an uncomfortable silence settles over the table. Caleb fills it as best he can with the same funny stories from recent interviews he’d already told Credence this morning. Credence pretends he hasn’t heard them. Every smile Percy cracks looks fake. Like it pains him to be doing it.

The waiter brings the bill, and Percy grabs his wallet immediately.

“No, Percy—” Credence fumbles in his pocket but Percy shakes his head.

“It’s fine. On me. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll pay,” Caleb says quickly. “I’m the one intruding here.” He gives Percy a grin which the man doesn’t return. It awkwardly falters and disappears. Percy sets a stack of bills down on the table and says goodbye.

After he leaves, they stay there for a while. 

“You okay?” Caleb asks finally. “He was a little…”

“Yeah,” Credence mumbles, cutting him off. “I’m fine.”

“Let me buy you ice cream.”

“I’m not twelve.”

“No, but you like ice cream.”

Credence leans into his shoulder, feeling the warmth from beneath his shirt radiate up into his own cool cheek. The hand on his thigh squeezes lightly, an unimaginable comfort. Through the window, Credence imagines he can see Percy looking back at him.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

 

——

 

By the time they get back to Caleb’s, it’s nearly nine and Credence’s hands are sticky with melted chocolate ice cream.

“Messy boy,” Caleb teases, taking his hand and licking the taste from his palm.

Credence yanks his hand away, giggling. “Gross!”

“I’ve had my tongue in your ass, you know.”

Credence makes a mock-gagging sound. “When you say it like that…”

Caleb weaves a hand through his hair and tugs gently. “You staying here tonight?”

“I don’t want to be—”

“Whatever you’re about to say, you’re not. Let’s go to bed. I’ll drive you home when I go to work tomorrow.”

Credence gives in easily. He likes sleeping here. His own apartment is nice, sure, but he gets scared at night when he’s alone. Once in bed, he waits until Caleb goes into the bathroom before he grabs his phone, typing out text after text with shaking fingers.   
  


_Listen, I get that you don’t like Caleb, which I don’t understand because you hardly know him and he’s so sweet—_

 

_I invited you to dinner because I wanted to catch up and Caleb is a part of my life now and you have to accept that if you want to see me—_

 

He startles when Caleb calls his name from the bathroom.

“Yeah, what?”

“I just got another email. I  really need to let them know or I’m gonna lose my shot at the apartment.”

Credence sighs, frustrated, fingers still hovering over his phone screen.

_  
I’m so sorry—_

  
Caleb comes out, fresh faced and in his pyjamas. “Listen, if you don’t want to—”

“I do,” Credence says quickly. “I do. Let’s do it. I’ll be done with my next project by then. I can work from there.”

A smile breaks out over Caleb’s face, crinkling his eyes. “Baby…”

Credence opens his arms. “C’mere. Of course I want to go with you.”

Caleb settles in beside him and Credence waits until his breath slows down and he relaxes into sleep before he picks his phone up again.

 

_Hey I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to thank you for dinner. You didn’t have to do that. I’m sorry if it was uncomfortable, I should have told you I wasn’t coming alone. Caleb and I were already out and I felt weird not inviting him. Have a good night, Percy._

 

He sets his phone on the bedside table. Headlights flood in through the curtained window as a car slowly rolls by, the light chopping Caleb's face into illuminated planes. Fuzzy sunflower-yellow on his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Credence leans over and kisses his sleeping face. The car passes by, away into nowhere, and the room is cast into darkness again.


	3. Chapter 3

The awful chaos of the Warner Brothers building spins like a carnival around Credence. People scatter and swarm like insects, moving in some collective wave he isn’t a part of. He always feels small when he’s here. All this just to sign a couple papers.

He’s already on the very brink, ready to plummet headfirst into a complete breakdown. He checks his phone so often that the sweat on his hands makes it hard to unlock. No fingerprints, just nerves. Still no response from Percy. A few from Caleb.

 

_Good luck today. Love you!!_

_Just heard I’m supposed to interview Lana Del Rey next month. I’ll bring you as my plus one._

 

He laughs and tucks his phone back into his pocket and reminds himself to be nicer to Caleb tonight. He was a brat all morning, he knows that. Glowering at the plate of breakfast Caleb made for him and giving him nothing but monosyllabic petulance. Even then, Caleb kissed him goodbye and whispered _I like you even when you don’t like me,_ which made him furious.

Credence squints at the long list of offices posted on the wall. It’s the age of the internet, why can’t he just scan his papers and send them in? He feels like a kid looking for his classroom on the first day of highschool. Awkward and skinny and fumbling. Shoved into lockers.

He turns and someone runs right into him. The folder he’s holding flies out of his hands and pages billow out, slow motion. They scatter on the floor. Fifty pages of sheet music. Credence bursts into tears.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” The man probably close to his age, dark haired and pale. It’s like looking into a mirror.

Credence opens his mouth to explain, but there are eleven years worth of the story needed to tell this stranger why he’s crying right now. Instead, he just drops to his knees in the center of the busy room and starts collecting his pages into a neat pile. The other man hands over a few papers, stacked haphazardly.

“I really am sorry,” he says. His voice has the same overseas lilt that Newt’s does, leaning heavy on his vowels. Credence wipes his eyes with his sleeve and considers laying down on the floor to die. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “Sorry. Rough day.”

“Harry.” The man extends his hand and Credence hesitates before shaking it. “Trust me, I get it.”

“Credence.” He smiles tightly. “I’m just trying to find office 307.”

“I’m headed there too, I’ll show you.”

A little bit suspicious but mostly thankful, Credence stuff the pages back into his folder and follows him to the elevators. 

“Are you on the team for the new _Avatar_?”

“Yeah, I’m here to sign my contract.” Credence glances at him side-eyed as they stand awkwardly in the elevator. “Are you?”

“Yeah, same. Think there’s four or five of us.”

“I’m not used to working on a team,” Credence admits. “I usually write by myself.”

Harry shrugs. The door opens and he gestures for Credence to go first, out into a much quieter hallway. “It’s pretty much the same. You go off and write your bits and bring them in for the meetings. And this one’ll be good money.”

The office is only a few doors down the hall. Credence goes in first, slipping timidly through the door. The other writers are already here, apparently: a man with tangerine-orange hair to rival Newt’s and a woman who looks like she’s somehow even more in charge than the man at the desk, who stands to greet Credence and Harry.

“Bernstein,” he says. “Music editor. We spoke on the phone, I believe.”

“Yes,” Credence says. His mouth is suddenly dry. He sits in the chair next to the red haired man, who grins at him.

“I’m Ron. Bass. This is Hermione, and she does everything.”

“Charmed,” Hermione says. Her eyes dance like light on water and she gives him a smile like she already knows every bit of himself he’s trying to hide.

“Credence,” he says. He clears his throat. “I play guitar. You guys are both from—?”

“Britain,” Hermione supplies. “Yes. London, specifically. The US is much less… polite.”

“Credence is very polite,” Harry chimes in. “I’m Harry, by the way. I drum. Credence and I ran into each other in the lobby. Or, I ran into him and effectively ruined his day.”

“You didn’t,” Credence mumbles, but Hermione and Ron both laugh.

“Another Brit. Blimey, Credence, you’re the odd one out. Now what’s this movie about?”

Hermione narrows her eyes. “Ron, did you _really_ not see the first two films?”

He shrugs helplessly. “I dunno. Did I?”

“I’ll have the script and some more details sent to each of you,” Bernstein says. He smirks at Ron. “I would suggest you watch the first two films to get a sense of the atmosphere. The third won’t be much different. Now, you’ll be meeting in a studio here once a week to collaborate and share your ideas. Aside from that, I just need you to sign your contracts and then you’re free to go.”

Credence’s lawyer already went over this contract with a fine-toothed comb, so Credence hardly scans each page before he scribbles out his name. His eyes flicker by the six figures on the last page. It hardly matters, really, but it’s a nice reminder that he’ll always be taken care of.

The four of them walk out together, back down into the chaos of the front lobby. Credence stays quiet while Harry, Ron and Hermione chatter about past jobs and swap stories of how they came over to America. Ron and Hermione have been together for years. Harry just moved here a few months back. Credence slides his phone out of his pocket and opens it to the message he sent Percy last night. Stupid. _Stupid._

He huffs out a frustrated sigh but the others are too caught up in their conversation to hear him. Their voices fall around him like heavy rain. He drags his feet on the sidewalk. Scuffs his good shoes.

“I have to get going,” he says to nobody in particular. He doesn’t wait for a response, just shoves his headphones into his ears so deep it hurts and turns in the other direction. The voice in his ears sings _I live in a city sorrow built_ and Credence matches his steps to the slow heartbeat of the song as he rounds the corner, back toward home.

 

——

 

For three weeks, Credence stays holed up in his apartment, surrounded by a nest of cables and amps and pedals, his little audio interface whirring away where it’s plugged into his computer. He fleshes out demo after demo until Pro Tools lags under the weight of all the tracks he loads into it. Caleb comes over for dinner almost every night, more so to make sure Credence eats than to hang out. 

“How many now?” He asks one evening, mouth half-full of rice noodles from the Vietnamese place down the street. They’ve made a little picnic on the floor, Credence’s equipment gently pushed aside, boxes and plates spread out between them.

“Twelve pieces,” Credence says, and then yawns. “I only need to bring three to the next session, but it’s better to be prepared. I mean, if they don’t like them…”

“I’m sure they will.” Caleb passes him an egg roll. “Did I tell you about that article David wanted me to write?”

“Don’t think so.” Credence’s stomach must be shrinking from the long days of accidental fasting, because he’s already stuffed. He bites into the egg roll regardless.

Caleb chooses his words carefully. Credence can always tell when he’s doing that: treading cautiously, walking on eggshells around certain topics. He gets this look in his eyes and his mouth opens long before any words come out. “He wanted me to write this _where are they now_ kinda thing.”

Credence sets the egg roll down on his plate. “About me,” he says dully.

“About Gellert Grindelwald.”

“Oh.” Credence pauses. “Who cares where he is now?”

“No one,” Caleb agrees. “Which is why I turned it down.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t sacrifice your work because of me.”

“It’s not a sacrifice. It’s sleazy work.”

Credence sighs. “I’m sure it would have paid well, though.”

“I don’t need money.”

They lock eyes for a moment, each daring the other to go on. Credence is too tired to protest any longer. “Okay. Fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” Caleb repeats, and passes him another egg roll.

Credence, full to bursting, eats it.

 

——

 

_Mr Bernstein,_

 

_I’ve attached the MIDI files for my part at the link below. Please let me know if they are in the right format. Thank you,_

 

_Credence_

 

Credence shuts his laptop and rubs at his temples. Translating his demos to MIDI was a headache and a half, and that’s only for the first half of the film. He’s got a few days to relax before he has to work on finishing the rest of it, and then converting it all, and then…

And then.

The plane tickets are pinned to the cork board in Caleb’s kitchen. Credence stares at them until his eyes blur. Caleb leaves in six weeks. He’ll follow a week later. He’s an idiot because he still hasn’t told his manager. Or his lawyer. Or anyone, really. Caleb told Newt and Tina and they keep calling but he doesn’t answer. 

He’s been ignoring Modesty’s texts for days now.

Credence folds his arms on the desk and rests his cheek against the sleeves of his sweater. Breathe in for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight. Four. Seven. Eight. He should tell his therapist he’s leaving. _How have you been sleeping?_ Not very well. _How’s the writing?_ Okay. Robotic. _Are you still feeling anxious?_ Sometimes. Always. Every second, every day.

“You send it in?"

Credence jumps and his chair screeches back across the floor. He spins to find Caleb, wide-eyed, standing in the center of the room. 

“Sorry, I—”

Credence shakes his head. “I was thinking. Sorry. Yeah, I sent it.” He gets up on unsteady legs, half-asleep from being folded at odd angles under his body. “I’m gonna take Gatsby for a walk.”

“I was gonna make lunch, you want some?”

“No, I’m fine.” He stretches, rolling up onto his tiptoes and yawning. “I’ll help you pack up more when I get back, I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Caleb says, insistently gentle as always. He cups Credence’s chin and kisses him, honey-sweet. Like it’s the very first time. “I love you, you know.”

“I do know,” Credence whispers. “I won’t be long.”

 

——

 

The park is quiet and cool. Gatsby hops along excitedly as his feet, still trying to run off every once in a while to chase a squirrel or fluttering leaf.

“C’mon, you dumb little thing,” Credence sighs, tugging at the leash while Gatsby makes a valiant attempt to chase another, much bigger dog. “Good boy. Good boy.”

He always wanted a dog. Back with Ma, he would never have dreamt to ask. With Percy, it never seemed like the right time. Caleb picked up Gatsby on a whim and Credence could have cried happy tears at the sight of the patchy little Beagle curled up on Caleb’s couch. He has a myriad of health problems and tends to run circles around Credence any time they go for a walk, but he doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have someone who loves you and wants nothing in return.

Gatsby tugs him insistently toward the bushes lining the path. Credence practically has to drag him around a curve and then stops dead in his tracks. Gatsby runs a lap around his feet. Credence stares, blinks, swallows.

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hey,” Percy says. He looks down at Gatsby. “You didn’t mention you have a dog.”

Gatsby has gone mercifully calm, apparently having worn himself out. He sits loyally at his feet and stares up at Credence, panting pink-tongued in wait for instruction. 

_Sic ‘em, boy._

“Caleb’s, really,” Credence says. He wraps the leash tighter around his hand. “He rescued him last year from the shelter. But I named him.” He looks back at Percy, squinting in the sunlight. “Gatsby.”

He means it as a peace offering. To loosen the tension. An attempt, at least. But the look on Percy’s face makes Credence grimace and look away. He can’t manage to be around him for thirty seconds without saying something fucking stupid, apparently. Percy misses no opportunity to make sure he knows it.

“Nice,” he says. “You walk him though.”

And they sit back down in the interrogation room. Credence chews on his lip, frustrated. He shrugs. “Sometimes. When Caleb’s gotta work all day. I like him.” Gatsby wheezes softly, lips pulled back in a wide dog-smile, still staring up at him. Credence smiles back. “I think he likes me.”

“Looks like it.”

_I should go._

_I have to get some work done._

_Gatsby’s tired._

_I have a meeting._

_I’m cold._

God, _anything._ Anything except —

“Wanna walk with me?”

_ Say no. Say no. Please, God, say no. _

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

Credence’s head runs through an itemized list of everything he should _not_ say, but of course he’s immediately ambushed by the one question he’s praying Percy won’t ask.

_How long._

“About two years, on and off.”

_Great, Credence. Good fucking job. Liar. Baby. Grow up._

His mind is disconnected from his mouth, which keeps talking. And talking. As if that isn’t his problem in the first place.

“That sounds serious,” Percy says.

What did he say? That they’re getting married? Jesus, he didn’t mention Sweden, did he?

“Do you love him?”

_Do you love him? Do you love him?_ The words blur together, reverbchorustapedelay. Lovelovelovelove. LovehimloveyouloveyouCredence. God. _God._ Gatsby jumps at something and Credence nearly stumbles forward after him. He tugs at the leash. Good boy. _Good boy, Credence. Good boy. Come here. Come here, baby. Do you love him? Don’t lie._

“I think I do,” Credence says. 

He should go. He should leave. He should turn around and walk away and never come back. He should walk out into the street and let the traffic erase every stupid bit of his body. He should call Caleb. He should kiss Percy. 

Gatsby’s panting is growing louder.

“He has lung problems,” Credence mumbles. Percy doesn’t respond. He tries again. “You aren’t seeing anyone?”

“Nobody interests me,” Percy says. “I’ve been with people, here and there. Nothing long term. Not like you.”

Credence doesn’t let himself think about Percy inside of somebody else. Percy’s hands on somebody else’s cheek. Somebody else knowing every ridge and valley of his body. He focuses instead on the weak little jab, which he really doesn’t mind, relative to the rest of this conversation. 

“I’m a romantic,” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

For a second, he thinks Percy might hit him. But then he smiles. “Oh, fuck off.”

The relief of it bubbles up in Credence’s chest and he laughs. He grabs Percy’s arm and leans into him as they walk, an old familiar silhouette of what was once second nature. 

He breaks away quickly, and the exit blooms in front of them like the gates to Heaven. Credence’s chest begins to unravel.

“Will I see you again?” He asks, suddenly bereft. He stares at Percy’s arm and he can almost see the outline of where his hand had been.

“Do you want to?” Percy looks down at Gatsby. Unsmiling. 

_Be nice to my dog, you asshole._

“Sure,” Credence says. “Yeah.”

“We could get dinner sometime next week, or maybe just coffee. The two of us?”

Credence closes his eyes for a moment. 

“Okay,” he says weakly. He wants to leave. He wants to go home.

“I’m gonna go now,” Percy says.

“Okay.”

Credence turns breathlessly and walks away as fast as he can. Gatsby bounces along at his feet. The air is sharp against his cheeks but he starts running anyway, bent low so he can talk to him — _good boy good boy let’s race can you beat me? —_ while the sidewalk scrapes and slides under their feet. He doesn’t look back. Not even once.

 

——

 

“Thanks for seeing me last minute,” Credence says apologetically as he drops down into the chair across from Bernstein’s desk. “I know you’re busy.”

“I’ve always got time for a creative genius,” Bernstein gives him a crooked smile. “What’s on your mind, Mr Barebone?”

Credence toys with the hem of his jacket and stares at the framed family photo on the man’s desk. “I’m moving out of the country in a month.”

Bernstein’s mouth opens and then closes. He looks at Credence for a moment and then nods. “Ah, I see. You won’t be here for the premiere, then?”

“I could fly back,” Credence says awkwardly. “I just… I mean, my partner and I are moving to Sweden. I’ve been talking to my manager and I’m going to work remotely from there. I’m sure I’ll be back sometimes, though.”

“Sweden,” Bernstein repeats. He raises his eyebrows. “That’s quite a change.”

“Yeah, I need a change,” Credence tries not to sound as uncertain as he feels as he justifies this major life decision to someone he barely knows. _Get it together._

“I don’t mean to doubt you. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Credence nods and stares at the floor. “I just wanted to let you know. I’ll have the rest of my files over by Monday.”

Bernstein smiles. “Thank you, Credence. You’ve done great work with us here. I hope you’ll be back.”

The sidewalk is hard and unforgiving under his feet as he dodges the crowds outside the building. Every step he takes vibrates in his chest like a kick drum and echoes forever. He’s half an hour early to meet Percy but he slips into the coffee shop regardless and takes a table in the corner by the window. He wants to order hot chocolate but he thinks about Percy and decides better of it.

He still hates coffee. He always has.

He pushes his glasses up on his nose and then cradles the mug in his hands to warm them. The street outside is busy and everybody looks cold, hurrying from place to place under the brutal October sky. A boy across the street who can’t be much older than ten is wearing a too-small jacket and no hat and Credence wants to run to him, to hand over his warm clothes and hug him, to tell him _it’s okay. I understand. I know what it’s like to be cold._

But the boy disappears from sight and then Percy is there, standing awkwardly at the table as though he needs permission to sit down.

“Oh, hey,” Credence says. He gestures to the seat across from him. 

“Hey.” Percy raises an eyebrow at the mug in his hands. He’s barely taken a sip, but he holds it closer to his body almost protectively.

“I drink coffee now,” he says, and tries his best to smile. “I am nearly thirty, you know.”

“Strange to hear.”

Credence pictures himself at nineteen, nervous and twitchy and weird, standing at the doorway to Macusa’s practice fifteen minutes early and counting down every second until it was time to knock. A few weeks later, in the hotel room after their first show, kissing Percy for the very first time. His first kiss. His first anything. Eleven years. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s weird, right?”

“And I’m almost forty. I’m about to head into my mid-life crisis.”

“Thirty six isn’t almost forty,” Credence scoffs. “And besides, you’ve been in your mid-life crisis for the past ten years.”

“Ha-ha.” Percy rolls his eyes. Credence watches his mug make its way up to his lips and back down again. “Have you been busy with work lately?”

“Eh, sometimes,” Credence lies. _Why are you lying? Why on earth do you have to lie about this, of all things?_ “I kind of work on my own schedule. I basically write whatever I can and then sell it to movies and commercials and all that. I have a major project twice, maybe three times a year, and then I’m totally consumed in it and I don’t leave my studio for like a month. I lose twenty pounds every time.”

“You don’t have twenty pounds to lose,” Percy says.

“One hundred and forty five,” Credence lies again. _One hundred and thirty five. Not eating much these days._

“Congratulations.” 

“Yeah, anyway. I’ve got a big one coming out next November, I think. It’s real big. Can’t even tell you what it is.” _I wouldn’t anyway_. Percy stares at him. Credence lifts his mug to his lips and tries not to wince at the bitter taste.

“I’ll look for your name in the credits.”

“How about you, anything exciting?"

“Just making money,” Percy says. “Haven’t had a passion project in years. I was thinking of trying to make music with Newt and Tina again.”

Credence wants to laugh. If that’s true, he hasn’t said a word to Newt or Tina about it. Yet here he is, trying to make Credence jealous? To hurt him? 

“Oh, that’s so exciting,” he says, testing the waters. “Let me know if you do that. I’ll come hang out.”

“Yeah, if you aren’t too busy, I guess.”

“I’m rarely busy.” _Stop putting yourself down. Stop diminishing what you do. Fuck, stop it. Tell him you’re making almost two hundred grand for this movie. Tell him._ “I still play too many video games. When Caleb’s working I’m basically useless.”

“Where does he work?” Percy sounds like he absolutely couldn’t care less, but Credence plays along.

“He’s a writer, a music journalist. That’s how we met. He was writing a piece on me. Kinda classic, huh?”

“Yeah. Classic.”

Well fuck, he asked. Credence shifts uncomfortably, clutching his mug in both hands, staring down into the rapidly cooling coffee. “Yeah, anyway. He works really long days sometimes, when there’s a lot of news and all that. I mean, we don’t live together.”

“Those glasses look ridiculous,” Percy says suddenly.

Credence frowns at the table. 

_Here, Percy, take them. Throw them out. Smash them to pieces. Fuck, pick out the glasses you want me to wear._

“I like them.”

“Since when do you need glasses?”

_Since I was eight years old and couldn’t read the chalkboard at school. Since I was twelve years old and Ma’s face was a blur, but I still knew she was angry. Since I was twenty one and the crowd was a fuzzy glow of colored lights and I never knew if they were smiling or frowning. You never asked. You never cared._

He shrugs. “My vision’s never been great. I’m bad at wearing them, though. I usually forget.”

“Mm.” Percy takes a long sip of his coffee. “I never asked you if you wanted to live in New York.”

“What?” Credence looks at him blankly.

“I never asked,” Percy repeats. “I just assumed you were okay with it. With staying. That you wanted to live here because I did. But as soon as I… as soon as I leave you’re moving out to Chicago and I just wonder if you never wanted to stay here in the first place. Sorry. I just… I’m sorry.”

Credence wants to laugh. He wants to jump out of his chair and throw his arms in the air and scream with every bit of air he has left in his lungs. He wants to punch Percy in the face. He wants to kiss him.

He stays painfully still.“Of all the things you’re going to apologize for now. Of all the things.”

Because those scars still shine, iridescent, between the thin tendons of his wrist. And he still flinches when anybody raises their voice around him. And he’s probably this fucking stupid from the near comical number of concussions he’s been given like little gifts: a drinking glass to his head. His head to the hardwood floor. Brick wall. Not all of that is Percy’s fault. But he’s certainly carved his notch deep into Credence’s feeble heart.

Percy’s talking, but he isn’t listening. _I’m sorry. I’d take it back._ Of course he would. But he couldn’t have simply not given it in the first place. Credence watches the corners of his mouth move while he speaks. They’re a little dry. His lips look thinner. Credence runs his tongue along his own, cracked from the cold. The shape of Percy’s words pop out toward him but they don’t make sense. Credence stares until Percy stops speaking.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks.

Percy gives him a strange look. “Yeah, I, uh. I am. It helps a lot. I don’t get so messed up anymore, you know, so angry. And not drinking helps too.”

“I’m glad it’s helping you.” He keeps his voice even. Steady. Percy looks away. Credence looks down into his coffee.

The song changes, and Credence tunes in. Like a radio with a bad signal finally crackle-popping into clarity, the first chord strums out crisp and bright and color bursts in front of Credence’s eyes.

“Holy shit.” He laughs. “It’s us.”

Percy turns from the window. His eyes are wide and very dark. The same color as the coffee Credence doesn’t want to drink, but he will anyway. Because he has to.

“Yes,” Percy says. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's a long one! i wanted to get a little more into credence's life outside of percy, because that's very much a thing.
> 
> thanks for all your comments and messages, i really appreciate them <3


	4. Chapter 4

Caleb has to keep shushing Credence as he sings a drunk and tone-deaf version of Happy Birthday for the third time in a row in the back of their taxi.

“ _Please,_ ” he begs, laughter making tears bloom in his eyes. “We’re gonna get thrown out.”

The cab driver’s eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror. Credence is too drunk to tell if he’s pissed or if he thinks it’s funny. It doesn’t matter anyway, because moments later they roll to a stop outside of Metro. The music makes its way out the door in fragmented bits of sound. Colored light.

“Happy _biiiiiiiiirth-_ day dear _Cayyyyyyyy-lubbbbbbbb_ …”

Caleb smacks a hand over his mouth and nearly tackles him to the ground as they stumble out of the car. “They’re not gonna let us in the club!”

“But it’s your _birthday_ and I’m _famous!_ ”

Caleb snorts and grabs him tight around the waist to lead him through the door. “You were famous ten years ago, baby. Your fifteen minutes are up.”

Credence rolls his eyes but lets himself be ushered into the obnoxiously loud, fog-thick room where he squints at the flashing lights. The bar stands like a lighthouse in a storm, a safe haven in the roiling sea of bodies on the floor. “Should we get a drink?”

“ _You_ have had enough,” Caleb says affectionately. “But I’m gonna get one."

“How are you not drunk?” Credence grumbles.

“I’m pleasantly tipsy. The real question is how do you manage to get this drunk at _dinner_?”

“Their mojitos were really good.” Credence fumbles in his pocket and pulls out his credit card. “Here. Start a tab.”

“I’ve got it,” Caleb says smoothly. He bats Credence's hand aside.

“It’s your birthday, shut the fuck up!” Credence shoves his card at the bartender, balancing his forcefulness with a sweet smile. Caleb rolls his eyes but concedes, sipping a whiskey and Coke, surveying the room. 

“Finish it, I wanna dance.” Credence tugs at his arm until Caleb downs the whole thing and sets the glass back on the bar. They head out into the crowd and find a spot in the center of the room. Caleb tries to dance but Credence is more interested in hugging him with his entire body. Everything feels good. He's drunk and the music is so loud that it's no longer music, just sound, just a constant thrum in his ears. He closes his eyes against the flashing lights and hugs tighter. Floating. 

“Why did we even come to a club? We could have done this at home.” Caleb squeezes him and kisses the top of his head. Credence rests his cheek against Caleb’s chest. He can hear his slow heartbeat, out of time with the music, in time with Credence's own. He finds Caleb's wrist with his fingers and presses them over his pulse point. Sighs his relief at the steady rhythm. Caleb rocks him gently, not caring that the music is moving three times as fast, not caring that the bodies around them are writhing like firelight. 

Credence hums  _happy birthday dear Caleb_ under his breath and looks blurry-eyed around the bar. No glasses to sharpen the figures into something recognizable. But at the bar, there's a face he doesn't need to focus on to recognize. He swallows hard and turns his face into Caleb's chest. Nose to collarbone. Suddenly dizzy.

“What’s the matter?”

“Percy’s here,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” Caleb pauses and glances over to the bar. His purposely even tone is enough to confirm that Credence isn't crazy, that his half-blind eyes are still keen enough to pick Percy out of a crowd. Muscle memory. “Do you want to go say hi?”

Credence pulls back and studies Caleb’s face. He looks impossibly blank. Credence smiles. “No, I don’t. I want to dance with my boyfriend on his birthday.”

And so he does, and he doesn’t look back once.

 

——

 

The next night, Credence comes home drunk. He didn’t mean to get drunk, but fuck it. This also isn’t his home, but fuck that too, because it’s where Caleb takes him to bed and makes him breakfast and he keeps his shoes there and a toothbrush and even some of his journals and —

He can’t hold onto a train of thought long enough to find out where it’s going.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Harry, Ron and Hermione had invited him out to get a drink and celebrate sending in their final files to Bernstein. He’d barely even sobered up from Caleb’s birthday the night before, and _a drink_ turned into two, three, four, five…

It’s not even that late. It’s barely ten thirty. Credence nearly falls headfirst into the front hall when he opens the door. He catches himself with a palm flat on the wall and knocks the coat hanger askew in the process. His elbow slams into the table. _Fuck._

He can’t tell if he said that out loud. Did he? He still doesn’t swear very often, not like Percy did. And why is he thinking about Percy now? 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Credence?”

Caleb is awake, of course he is, because he’s got a major article he’s trying to finish. And here Credence is, coming home wasted, being a nuisance as usual. Caleb is so good. He’s so _nice._ Credence’s shoulders lift, and then his mouth is curling open and he’s crying — why is he crying?

“Oh, Credence, baby, what’s wrong?”

Caleb is in front of him, having come down the hall at light speed, apparently. Credence laughs a little, hiccuping, at the image. Caleb holds him by the shoulders and gives him a confused smile. “Credence? Everything okay?”

Credence nods and falls into him, cheek to his chest. He’s wearing his softest sweater. Or at least one of the softest. Credence wishes it was ten times bigger, a blanket, so he could wrap himself up in it and stay there forever.

“D’you love me?”

Caleb shakes his head and sighs. “Of course I love you, Credence. What’s the matter? Did something happen?”

“No,” he whimpers. “I’m just so _sad._ ”

The look Caleb gives him lays out the rest of the night in a perfect sequence in his mind: Caleb will undress him and dress him back up in his pyjamas, and then he’ll take him to bed and kiss him and maybe even suck him off, and then he’ll hold Credence until they both fall asleep and he’ll be behind in his work — he always is, when Credence gets like this. The resentment will build inside him like something malignant and awful and he'll hate Credence months, maybe years from now. Once Credence has drained every bit of kindness from him like some kind of vile parasite...

“Gonna go to bed,” Credence mumbles. He can take care of himself. Maybe. “Please, just — jus’ finish your work. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” The concern doesn’t wane from Caleb's voice. Not one bit. He tilts Credence’s face up with two fingers under his chin and inspects his hooded, bloodshot eyes. “How much did you drink?”

“Lots. Lots and lots.” Credence gives him his best attempt at a sweet smile, and then leans up to kiss him. Open-mouthed, needy.

“You taste like whiskey,” Caleb says, but he’s smiling back against Credence’s mouth. “Let me take you to bed.”

“You’re busy,” Credence mumbles. “I’m fine.”

“That can wait. I still have a few days. I’m tired anyway.”

It isn’t convincing, but Credence lets himself be led down the hall. True to his prediction, Caleb helps him get undressed and then gives him some clean pyjamas. He slips into bed and pulls Credence with him, never taking his hands off of him, not once. He knows how badly Credence needs to be grounded when he’s drunk. When he’s upset. When he’s both, he’s a kite with a snipped line.

Their legs tangle together beneath the comforter and Caleb kisses all around Credence’s stupid, drunk face. “I love you.”

“Love you,” Credence mumbles. 

He wonders what Percy’s doing. No. _No._

“ _Fuck._ ”

"What's wrong?”

The _concerned_ voice is back. God, did he say that out loud again? He cries harder. He didn’t realize he’d started crying again to begin with. God, he’s so _stupid._ He knows better than to get drunk. It always ends up like this, one way or another. 

“Shut up, just—” Credence mashes his mouth down against Caleb’s and rolls over to straddle him, palms pushed into the soft mattress on either side of his head. Memory foam. He sleeps here so often it holds his shape.

Caleb grabs his face and holds him a few inches away, his expression beyond amused. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”

“Sorry,” Credence says guiltily. “But can you?”

With a shake of his head and a soft laugh, Caleb does. They make out for a while, slow and sloppy and very wet. Caleb keeps trying to reel it in, to make it into something softer, but Credence is off the deep end and swimming deeper. He flips over and pulls Caleb on top of him. He catches the back of his head to pull him downward. Bites his lip hard and licks at the tender spot. Caleb makes a soft, pained sound but doesn’t complain. He’s always so patient.

Somehow, they end up undressed, but what they do to get there slips Credence’s mind. All he knows is that the silky skin of Caleb’s cock is in his fist, and Caleb’s little whimpers are in his ear, and he really wants him to cum on his face. He tells him as much, and Caleb laughs into Credence’s shoulder.

“ _Jesus,_ baby.”

Caleb has a hand wrapped around him, too. He feels the pleasure before he realizes why. His brain is moving slower by the second. Caleb is really good at this. He’s really good at _everything._

“I wanna get inside you,” Credence mumbles. Caleb hums in agreement.

“You want me on top?”

“Hit me.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Please, just…” Credence looks up at him helplessly. Caleb has stopped kissing him. His hand hasn’t left Credence’s cock, but it stills. “I just want you to do it.”

“Credence, we don’t do that.” Caleb’s voice is firm and quiet and Credence suddenly feels like a child. “Come on, baby. What’s going on?”

“Fuck off,” Credence says, and he pushes Caleb off of him in one swift motion, because he’s fucking _pissed._ He doesn’t need to be lectured. Not by Caleb. Not by anyone. “Don’t tell me what _we_ do. You don’t know what _I_ do.”

He’s up on his feet suddenly, fists clenched at his sides. He doesn’t let himself think of how ridiculous he probably looks, standing there naked, cock still hard and wanting, whole body flushed. Caleb has pushed himself up to sit, and he stares at Credence in utter disbelief.

“What do you mean, what _you_ do? You’ve got people hitting you on the side that I don’t know about?”

He sounds like he’s trying to keep his tone light but it isn’t quite working. Caleb doesn’t yell. Sometimes Credence wishes he would.

“I don’t know what I mean. I’m fucking _drunk,_ okay?” He’s shouting by the end of it, and he really wishes he had some clothes on. He spots his pants on the floor and tugs them on, followed by his discarded tee shirt. He pulls it on backwards but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. He needs to leave. He needs to get out. He's so dizzy it hurts. 

And then Caleb is in front of him, hands so gentle on his shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Credence spits, and shakes him off. “I can’t — I don’t want to look at you right now.”

“What did I do?” Caleb asks helplessly. “Baby, I don’t understand. Can we just go to bed?”

“That’s not my bed.”

“You spend enough time in it.”

“Fuck _off!_ ” Credence really is shouting now. Caleb cringes. “You don’t — you don’t know what it’s like, what I am, being this… you don’t know. You don’t know anything!”

He’s crying, too, and that’s just great because the tears are blurring his eyes and making it hard to navigate the dark room, and his nose is filling up, making it impossible to breathe. Caleb grabs him and wraps his arms around Credence’s shoulders, hugging him tight to his chest.

“It’s okay,” he says. “You’re okay. I don’t know anything, you’re right. But you can tell me."

“ _No!_ ” Credence shoves him off, and then shoves him again. Caleb holds his hands up to shield himself but doesn’t make any move to fight back. He’s still calm. More than ever, Credence wishes he would just fight back.

Gatsby appears from the doorway and jumps at their feet, barking wildly. Credence sees red bloom behind his eyes.

“Fucking shut him up, Mark’s gonna have a fit—”

“He’s _scared_!” Caleb scoops the dog up in his arms and holds him to his chest. Defensive. Like he’s really worried Credence will hurt him. Because Credence is destructive and unpredictable and violent and awful, and he shouldn’t be here, he really shouldn’t. He stares at Caleb for a moment, breath coming out ragged and pained, and considers punching him in his stupid, beautiful face. Caleb would probably let him. Instead he turns down the hall, headed to the door. Blind in his anger. His pointless, senseless anger. Always making things worse for himself just because he can.

Caleb is following him, calling out after him. _Credence, come on, baby. Just calm down. Everything’s okay. You don’t have to be upset. Credence!_

The door slams behind him. He shivers in the October cold, nothing but a t-shirt to keep him warm. He walks quickly, head down, praying to whatever God exists that Caleb isn’t following him. He hails the first cab he sees and shuts his eyes, tipping his head back against the seat, voice shaking as he recites the address.

He’d memorized it, of course, when he walked Percy home. He couldn’t _not._ He starts crying again in the cab and the driver glances at him in the rearview but doesn’t say a word. He tips him extra for that and stumbles out of the car, looking up at the building that’s occupied his dreams for the past three weeks. Fragmented versions of it, little flashes that blueprinted themselves in his head: the color of the windowpane, the pattern of the bricks, the slant of the roof.

It looks so much more intimidating now as he climbs the steps up to Percy’s door. He goes to knock, and then rings the doorbell instead. Nothing happens. He rings it again. And again. And then three more times. And he hates himself, almost turns around to run back down the front steps — but the door opens.

“Credence,” Percy says, and it only makes Credence cry harder. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I — can I come in?”

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Percy says no. He _should_ say no. Of course he should.

But he doesn’t. 

And so Credence finds himself sitting on Percy’s couch, wrapped up in the blanket that they used to keep in their apartment, which he still has after seven years. Credence’s head spins. He wants to remember every word they say to each other, every single shift in Percy’s face, every movement of his hands, but he’s so dazed and wasted that he can barely even hold onto the present, let alone store any memories.

He ends up with a glass of water in his hand, babbling about how awful his life is. Pathetic. Painting himself as the victim with transparent strokes that even Percy must see through. Percy, who knew him better than anyone. Who still does. He puts his face in his hands and thinks about Caleb. That makes him cry even more. He wants to go home. He wants to go back to Caleb’s bed. But now Percy is beside him on the couch and he’s reaching out, and his hands are on him, his arms are around him, and there are things in life that you never stop wanting no matter how hard you try —

_You’re so brave, puppy._

Credence doesn’t know if the words actually come from Percy’s mouth or if he makes them up inside his own head, but it doesn’t matter. He throws himself at the man, the man he loved for so long and probably still does. His teeth knock against Percy’s but their lips still fit together in some kind of soft, beautiful puzzle and God, it’s just like then, it’s just like then. Percy’s hand comes up in alarm to grab Credence’s elbow, but he hardly puts up a fight. It’s laughable. Credence is practically crawling onto his body, kissing him with more force than he can afford to put out right now, panting and dizzy and desperate.

He grabs at Percy’s shirt in a half-hearted attempt to pull it off. His hands are clumsy and tired. All he wants is to get him naked, to see his body again, see what it looks like after all these years. Find all those spots he mapped out so long ago. _Here’s the vein in his arm that stands out when he clenches his fist. Here’s the freckle on his hip that I kissed over and over again._

And his cock, God, he wants it. Suddenly wants it more than anything, which is ridiculous, because he has Caleb and it can’t possibly be that different. But it is. He just wants to suck Percy off again, to remind him of how good it was, to show him all he’s learned —

But Percy is gasping _Credence_ and pushing him off, and shit, did he say that out loud? He must have. Credence tries to focus on Percy’s face but everything is blurry. His eyes look concerned. 

“Baby, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re drunk. You don’t want to do this.”

“I _do._ ” And then he’s kissing him again, and confessing — God, he shouldn’t be saying these things but he _is._ He’s telling Percy how he’s never let anyone else fuck him, and how on earth does he expect the man to respond to that? Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

And then —

_I love you. I love you I love you I love you._

He feels like he’s crying again. Maybe he is. He shouldn’t be saying these things.

_Call Caleb,_ he wants to say. _Make him come pick me up. Please._

But he doesn’t. He just keeps kissing Percy, and telling him he _loves_ him, and if it’s true then he’s fucked, and if it isn’t he’s still fucked, because he’s saying it regardless.

_ Happy birthday, Caleb. Happy birthday, darling. _

“I love you, too,” Percy says. And that’s it.

 

——

 

It’s nearly one o’clock when the cab drops Credence off at Caleb’s place. He keeps his head bowed in shame as he climbs the steps. Like when he came home late and knew Ma was waiting. Like when he knew he made Percy angry and had to sit there nervously waiting for him to speak. Except Caleb isn't Ma, and he isn't Percy. All the same, Credence's  hands tremble over the keyboard on his phone as he tries to figure out what to say.

_I’m home_ doesn’t work. _Can you come to the door?_ No. Not when there are already three missed calls and eight unanswered texts hanging between them. He shoves his phone into his pocket and knocks.

Caleb is there moments later. His face goes from confusion to relief to worry in rapid sequence. He lets Credence in without a word, hugging him so close and warm, kissing his cheek and his ear and his nose.

"You're freezing," Caleb's says softly. He presses their cheeks together. His is warm and soft. Credence's is icy and dry and flushed-pink from tears and alcohol and cold.

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpers.

Caleb shakes his head. “It’s okay. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

The light is on in the living room. He must have stayed up waiting; worrying. Credence is suddenly all-too-aware of the damp stickiness in his pants. He got wet for Percy. While Caleb sat here and waited for him. He lets Caleb lead him down the hall and undress him. If he notices anything, he doesn’t comment as he helps Credence into fresh underwear and brings him to bed.

Under the blankets, Caleb tangles their legs together, kissing Credence’s mouth open slowly and carefully. He knows how to do this. How to make Credence vulnerable. How to make Credence need him. He hates him and loves him for it, all at once. His mouth still tastes like Percy, but soon enough it won’t.

“Where did you go?” Caleb asks him when he finally pulls back, tucking a curl of Credence’s hair behind his ear.

Credence closes his eyes and tips his head down until it rests on Caleb’s chest, so he doesn’t have to look at him anymore. “Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter hurt to write lol
> 
> thank you for the comments + kudos as always <3


	5. Chapter 5

Credence stands on the dusty sidewalk outside of Caleb’s apartment and stares.

The windows are all dark, because Caleb is gone. There’s nothing in there anymore. No books or chairs or blankets. No fruit on the counter. No damp towels hanging over the shower door for Credence to press his face into, to breathe in the wet scent of him while he’s at work.

_I love you so much I’m going to die,_ he texts.

It doesn’t deliver. Caleb is on a plane, and right now he’s seven miles above the Atlantic Ocean. Credence tucks his hands into the sleeves of Caleb’s NYU sweatshirt, keeping him warm underneath his too-thin jacket. It’s November. It’s freezing. He kicks at a stone under his feet and it skitters down the sidewalk.

His apartment is almost just as empty. All his things are in boxes in storage, waiting to be shipped over three days after his arrival. He has his laptop and his favourite blanket and enough clothes to last him the week. The tickets are pinned to the empty wall in his living room. Sometimes he sits on the floor and stares at them, unblinking, until his eyes sting with dust and everything goes blurry.

He turns his phone over in his hands and unlocks it again, fingers bent awkwardly in the cold, hovering over the keyboard. His nose drips onto his lip and he sniffs it up. _Gross._ His tongue comes out to lick across the dry ridges of his lips and his fingers feel frozen where they are, like they’ll never un-bend, paralyzed forever in a half-hearted attempt to pour his honesty out into pixel-words on a five inch screen.

It’s been three weeks since he saw Percy. Since he tore through everybody he loves like a fucking hurricane, a rampage of self-destruction. A storm. A little monster. He looks back up at the window in Caleb’s apartment. Somebody else will live there now, and somebody else will live where he lives, and somebody else already lives where he and Percy used to live. Nothing is sacred. Nothing is precious. Nothing can be, when hearts are so easy to shatter and shape into something new and unfamiliar.

He tucks his phone into his jeans and his hands into the pockets of his jacket and walks back down 54th. There’s a diner on the corner and he ducks inside, scurrying to a booth in the back. Despite his best attempts he’s still spotted by a waitress who materializes instantly and smiles at his mumbled order of apple juice and a chocolate muffin.

The neon clock on the wall flashes 1:07 pm. Caleb’s flight won’t land until after 6:00. Credence sets his phone on the table and taps his fingers quietly on either side of it. Like he’s waiting for it to light up and tell him what to do.

A tall glass of juice and a plate with a muffin the size of his face is slid in front of him. He nods his thank-you and takes a sip. He isn’t hungry. He hasn’t been for weeks, really. He unlocks his phone and opens his text conversation with Percy, where the last messages sit heavily on the screen: _hello, how are you, where would you like to meet for coffee?_  He chews on his bottom lip and feels the dry skin crack under his sharp teeth. Fuck.

_Can I come over?_

He flips the phone over the moment he sends it, heart racing double time like he’s already there. Like his hand just left the front door. Like his timid knocks are still echoing around him. He forces out a slow breath and sips his juice. The sugar starts to soothe his headache and the rawness of his stomach, the little aches that bloom when he doesn’t manage to get any food down. He stares dubiously at the muffin. He thinks about Caleb’s gentle hand bringing a fork to his lips and he breaks off a bite.

He has to tell Percy. He just does. He can’t just _leave_ , especially not after…

The piece of muffin sticks in his dry throat and he chokes quietly, swallowing over and over to force it down. Wipes at teary eyes. His phone vibrates and he jumps. It shudders across the table, light glowing blue against the red plastic tabletop. His hand shoots out to silence it, to force it still.

Back home, at the church, they’d get insects. Spiders. Centipedes. Those were the worst, with their long spindly legs and the way they slithered in the dusty corners like tiny snakes. It was Credence’s job to kill them, but he always hated doing it. He’d take his flat stone from the front walkway and he’d skitter over to the bug and he’d bring it down quickly, jerkily. Often times he’d miss. Sometimes he wouldn’t. He’d turn over the rock slowly, cringing, to make sure the bug was smashed to bits beneath it.

Turning over his phone is a lot like turning over that rock. He does it slowly, shakily, breath caught in his chest, closing his eyes for one brief moment before he braves a glance at the screen.

_Of course._

_Ofcourseofcourseofcourse._

He folds his arms on the table and puts his head down.

When he looks up again, his glass has been cleared away. He blinks in the too-bright light that pulses through the window, reflecting off passing cars and sending blinding rays into his eyes. _Of course. Of course of course._

Well.

He leaves the muffin on the table, only one small piece torn off. His guilt trails behind him as he hurries to the door, head down. Slips into the cab that stops for him and mumbles out Percy’s address. God, he could have used the walk to clear his head, stop the heavy rattle of his heart in his chest, but he doesn’t want to make Percy wait on top of everything else.

Modesty calls and he digs his nails into his palm. Declines the call. The cab rolls to a stop and he thrusts thirty dollars to the driver, far too much of a tip, but it doesn’t matter. He can feel his heart in his throat as he walks up the steps. It crawls toward his tongue, pushes at his teeth, and if he opens his mouth it’ll all spill out.

Percy answers the door looking a little dishevelled. Credence doesn’t say anything; he just follows him inside and to the living room, where he’s in the process of cleaning up. Boxes of records and books are spread out around the shelf and he kneels back down in front of it like Credence isn’t even there. Credence perches anxiously on the couch and watches him. 

His pulse thrums ominously in his throat, his ears, behind his eyes. His throat feels dry and tight. He toys with his sleeve and watches Percy line up books on the second shelf.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” he says. Spit sticks like syrup in his throat. He could drown in the sweetness. He pinches the inside of his wrist to remind himself to keep breathing.

“Yeah, no problem, Credence.”

Percy doesn’t even look up. He doesn’t care. Credence should just shut the fuck up. He should just leave. He takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes with his knuckles until stars burst like fireworks behind his eyelids. The room is less terrifying when he can’t really see it. He blinks blearily at the colors, the blurred shapes. Puts his glasses back on. Percy comes into focus, still kneeling at the shelf, setting book after book in careful order.

Credence stands and approaches. His legs want to collapse but he doesn’t let them. “Can I help with anything?”

Percy finally looks up. Credence glances over his shoulder to the blue softcover that he recognizes immediately. _Call Me By Your Name._ Caleb reading out loud with Credence’s head in his lap in Central Park. Credence finishing it himself, curled up in bed alone while Caleb was at work, Gatsby wheezing beside him. Sobbing like a baby with his face in the pillow.

“I read that last year. It made me cry so much.”

“Me too,” Percy says quietly. He flips through worn, dog-eared pages until he stops late in the book, a page highlighted and underlined with tiny notes scribbled in the margins. Credence resists the needling urge to lean in closer, to get down on his knees next to Percy, to put his head on his shoulder while he reads.

“‘If there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything— what a waste.’”

Credence wants to cry. He wants to hold Percy’s hand. He wants to go home. But home is an empty floor and no pictures on the wall. Home is everything in boxes. Home is nowhere. Home is here.

“We rip out so much of ourselves,” Credence repeats. 

He sits down.

“You don’t seem to have ripped out much of anything,” Percy says.

_What do you mean?_ Credence doesn’t ask. _Why would you say that to me?_

Instead, he reaches over to another blue book: a deeper shade, one that hits him in the chest like a two by four, like Percy’s hands when he was drunk and angry, like the belt when Ma spun him around, so blind in her fury that she didn’t care which part of his body she hit.

_The Great Gatsby_ still stands out in faded yellow print along the top. Credence traces the words with one finger. He turns it over in his hands, flips through the pages. It’s far more worn than the other book — it’s lived through too much to maintain its shape, stuffed full with every memory, every day Credence spent reading it, the time he clutched it in his sweaty little hands after running away from their apartment, the plane ride to England, the nights Percy read by his bedside.

“I still need to buy a copy,” he says stupidly. “I haven’t read it, since.”

He can’t find words to follow _since,_ so he just lets it hang there in the air, as tangible as their bodies. Something catches his eye on the bottom shelf of the cabinet: a black shoebox, tucked away in the corner. He reaches out and Percy’s hand lands on his arm, holding him back. Credence narrows his eyes.

“What’s that?"

“Nothing,” Percy says, much too quickly.

“C’mon, Percy,” Credence says softly. Percy lets him go and he takes the box in careful hands and sets it down in front of him. He watches in his peripheral as Percy gets up and walks away, into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening; water running in the sink. 

He takes the lid off and one slip of paper flutters out onto the floor. Thin, flimsy, richly colored magazine paper, cut precisely around a short blurb about —

_Credence Barebone amongst others to join Avatar II score_

Credence swallows his questions and looks back to the box. A printed online article next, a longer feature, stamped with a round-eyed photo of him right under the byline. He grimaces. He hated that photo, the deer-in-headlights look that the flash drew from him, the way they caught him mid-sentence. Lips apart. Hands blurry. 

The next one is another magazine clipping, a full page detailing his work on _Dumbo._ Perfectly cut out as well, not a single tear in the edge, not a corner folded. Credence sets it down delicately and falls back on his heels. His legs ache from being folded and tears blur his eyes. He reaches for another piece. There are so many. There could be one hundred, easily. Credence hasn’t even read half of these. Hasn’t even bothered to look for them. 

He makes it to the bottom of the box and his hands are shaking violently. He clenches his fists hard.

“Percy,” he says. His voice wavers. He feels like a child. _Please help me._

“I’m so sorry, Credence."

_You’re not. You’re not. You never are._

“How long?”

“Since I left.”

A sob rolls through Credence’s body like a slow wave, pushing his head downward. Seven years. Seven years. _Seven years._

“I’m moving,” Credence says.

_Don’t let me go don’t let me go don’t let me go._

“What?”

Credence’s gaze shoots up. Percy’s hand is white-knuckle tight around a glass of water and his eyes look raw. 

“I’m moving,” he repeats. “Next week. I’m moving to Sweden with Caleb. I’m not coming back.”

“What do you mean.”

Percy doesn’t say it like a question. It isn’t a question. Credence glares up at him. “I mean I’m leaving. I’m leaving New York, I’m leaving America, I’m not going to be here anymore.”

_Tellmetostaytellmetostaytellme—_

“You said you were on and off—”

_Fuck shut up it doesn’t matter don’t let me go please tell me to stay._

“Yeah, I fucking lied, okay?”

He feels his voice rising but he can’t stop. Can’t calm himself down. Anger blurs everything more than sadness does, ringing in his ears, making his vision shake at the edges. He wants to scream. He wants to rip every paper in this box to shreds. He wants to throw it all back at Percy.

“But your — your career, Credence, what—”  


“I found a studio there,” Credence snaps. “I’ve already worked it all out. It doesn’t matter, Percy, that’s not important."

Percy just stares at him. Like he’s a crime scene. A wounded animal. A child.

“Is that what you want?” Percy says finally.

Credence blinks. “I don’t know. I think so. I thought so.”

He looks back down at the box. Seven years. He might throw up. 

For a second he thinks he imagined the word in Percy’s voice. The one that still makes him cringe when he hears it in passing. The one that drags him back into memories that catch like blood in his throat. _Orchid._

But he looks up at Percy, mouth still half-open. Watching him.

“What?”

He says it again. _Orchid._

Credence gets up on shaky legs. “Fuck you, Percival.”

“Credence, I—”

“No, fuck you!” He moves forward and shoves him, hits him square in the chest, as hard as he can bear, which isn’t very hard. They’re close enough to kiss. They’re close enough to kill. “Fuck you for making me feel like I’m doing the wrong thing. Fuck you for hating the fact that I’m finally happy. Fuck you for still loving me seven years later and being too much of a coward to say it. Fuck you for leaving me in the first place.”

He holds himself, sobbing, ugly and red and twisted. Fat tears roll off his face and onto the floor. He can’t stop moving his feet, rocking from one to the other, rolling up on his toes. He wants to run. He has to run. He can’t let himself say anything else. Hear anything else.

He shoves past Percy and towards the door. His hand fumbles at the doorknob, clumsy, stupid, but he gets it open and nearly falls out of it. Outside, he practically runs. He knows he’s a fucking train wreck, he catches the concern on the faces of everyone he passes, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Every breath rattles heavy in his chest. It hurts.

A cab rolls to a stop when he waves his hand and he slides into the back, still breathing hard, still crying.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Going to Brooklyn.”

The driver is young, probably younger than he is. His eyes catch Credence’s in the rearview mirror. “You okay, man?”

Credence falls back against his seat. “No. But I will be.”

The man grins. “Yeah, that’s right. Hey, weren't  you in a band?”

“No,” Credence says softly, staring out the window as they pass the Met.

“Oh, cause you look just like this guy, man, I used to love this band but they kinda disappeared—”

“I’m a teacher,” Credence interrupts. “I work at a school. I don’t play music.”

“Sorry, dude. Didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It’s okay. My girlfriend just broke up with me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” There’s genuine sympathy in his eyes and Credence almost laughs. “Mine left me a couple months back. Rough, man. You got somewhere to go?”

“Yeah, my place is in Brooklyn.” Credence stretches and wipes the last of his tears from his cheeks. “She’s moving to Sweden.”

“Christ, that’s a move. Why’s she leaving?”

Credence shrugs. “To be with someone else.”

“What a bitch, man.”

Credence looks up sharply. “Don’t say that.”

He taps the steering wheel. “Sorry. Hey, what’s the address?”

They don’t speak for the rest of the ride. Credence sulks against the window like a child and watches the buildings fly by, his eyes half-shut. When they reach his apartment, he steps out of the car to find Modesty standing on the sidewalk.

“What are you doing here?” He demands. “How long have you been waiting here?”

“You’ve been crying,” she informs him, as if he didn’t already know. “Where were you?”

“None of your business.” He hates being short with her but he walks past her anyway, up the steps to his door. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“You’re leaving in less than a week! When are we going to talk?”

“I don’t know.” Credence tips his head forward, forehead resting on the cold wood of his front door. His hand is frozen in place on the doorknob. He feels her step up beside him.

“I’m coming in,” she says, one hand on his back.

He nods. “Okay.”

The apartment seems even emptier with somebody else in it. Credence is almost embarrassed of his empty shelves and lack of furniture. But Modesty sits up on the kitchen counter and watches him expectantly, like he’s the one who’s supposed to start talking even though she invited herself in.

“I was at Percy’s,” he admits. He doesn’t meet her eyes.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Um, I had to tell him, right?”

“Right.” 

They don’t say anything for a while. Credence fills a plastic cup with water and drinks it down in one long sip.

“You know he still loves you.”

It isn’t a question. The plastic cup crackles and folds in Credence’s fist. He closes his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

“You have a choice, Credence. You don’t have to leave.”

The plane ticket is still pinned to the wall. Credence wants to tear it to shreds. He wants to go wait in the airport right now, sleep there for a week, just to make sure he gets on that plane.

“When you grow up a bit more you’ll realize that you don’t always have a choice.”

Modesty snorts. “Sorry, Cre, but don’t give me that bullshit. I’m not twelve anymore. And maybe I don’t know everything, but I know you don’t have to move to another continent to be with someone you don’t even _love_ just because—”

“I do love him,” Credence hisses. “You don’t know anything. Stop.”

“Don’t be mean,” Modesty says. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m sorry.” Credence doesn’t look at her. “It isn’t easy, you know. Leaving.”

“Then don’t go.”

“Fuck, Modesty, I’m going. Look at this place.” He waves a hand desperately at the emptiness of his apartment. “I’m basically already gone.”

She hops down from the counter. “Fine. Then go. But you’re going to regret it, and then you’re going to be stuck out in God knows where and have no idea how to come home. Figure it out, Cre. Before it’s too late.”

He doesn’t move to stop her as she leaves. He just stands there and watches her go. The door clicks shut and he slams his fist into the countertop so hard that his knuckles crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credence would definitely work on the dumbo soundtrack. 100%.
> 
> almost the last chapter!! thanks as always for your comments + kudos <3


	6. Chapter 6

_Through security yet?_

_Almost. Sorry. Traffic was bad and it took forever to get here. Plus my cab took me to the wrong level at first_

_Your flight boards in 15 minutes!_

_Okay jeez let me just go knock out the guard and sprint through security_

_I love you, baby. See you soon_

 

Credence tucks his phone back into his pocket. He taps his foot impatiently and cranes his neck to see past the long line leading up to the security checkpoint. It's hardly moving at all. Fuck. He should have gotten here earlier. He shouldn't have paced around for half an hour while he knew full well that there wasn't anything he was forgetting.

He pushes his glasses up on his nose and glances at his phone again. Twelve minutes to boarding. The line moves up and the knot in his chest unravels slightly. He’ll be fine. Even if he has to catch a later flight, he’ll be fine.

“Credence!”

He doesn’t even have to turn around. As if he could ever miss that voice, as if he could ever mistake it. But something compels his body to spin, to stare, even as the line moves ever forward — Credence freezes.

“Percy, what are you doing here?”

“Credence, I need to talk to you. Please. Please talk to me.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Probably Caleb, asking once again if he’s through security. He has the terrible, insidious urge to tell him to fuck off and smash his phone to pieces. Percy stares at him with pleading eyes. His cheeks are pink and his hair is dishevelled and — did he _run_ here? Oh, God. Oh, no.

“I can’t, Percy,” Credence says, and he wishes his voice wouldn’t come out so pitiful and weak. “I have to go. I’m gonna miss my flight.”

Percy takes the smallest step forward. “Credence, give me one minute. Just one minute, please.”

The bright digital clock on the wall tells him ten minutes to boarding. 

“Okay,” Credence says quietly. It already feels like defeat. “One minute. Then I have to go.”

He won’t make it now. He knows he won’t. But Caleb already knew he was late; he won’t be suspicious. Credence will rebook on the next flight, he’ll sleep in the airport if he has to, because Caleb is waiting for him and he’s going to _be_ there. 

He ducks out of the line, mumbling apologies as he dodges impatient travellers, slipping under the velvet rope barrier and following Percy over to the divider by the escalator. He looks at him expectantly, training his face to be blank. “What do you want?”

“Credence, I want you to stay.”

Fuck. What did he expect? Exactly this, really, he just thought that maybe he’d be wrong, that maybe Percy would have something to say that isn’t entirely selfish for once. Because the admissions of love always come when it’s too late. Percy only jumps in front of bullets when Credence is already wounded.

And here he is now, digging around in Credence's chest for all the bullets that he put there.

Credence shakes his head and offers him a tight smile. “No, Percy. You don’t get to decide.”

The clock flashes seven minutes to boarding. Credence’s fingers tremble around the handle of his suitcase.

“That’s not what I mean, I—” Percy stares at the floor for a moment. When he looks up, his eyes are glossy and wet. “Credence, I am so sorry for everything I did wrong, every time I hurt you, every single way that I fucked you up. Maybe some of the damage I did was irreparable. But it seems like you’ve done pretty well. I’m glad that you moved on, and I’m glad that you grew up, and I’m glad that you’re happy. Really, I am. But I love you, Credence, and I’m never going to stop. I love you more than anybody has ever loved anything or anyone—”

God, no. Not now. Not today. “Percy—”

“No. Listen to me, Credence. It’s been seven years and you’re still the only person I think about. Every morning, every night, when I’m happy and when I’m absolutely goddamn miserable. And everyone keeps telling me I need to let go, to leave you alone, but they don’t understand. The only people who get it are you and me, Credence, and you know that. If you love this guy, if you really, really love him, and you think you’ll be happy in Sweden, then go. I want you to be free. I want you to decide. But I don’t think this is what you really want, and I think you tried to tell me that. You can — you can hate me all you want, sweetheart, you can never speak to me again, but your life is here. Your job is here. Your friends are here. Your sister is here. New York is a better place with you in it.” 

Credence feels his shoulders rising protectively, his face twisting in an attempt to stop the tears. There are people all around, probably watching. Probably listening. And he’s going to be the asshole, of course, he’s going to be the thoughtless, ungrateful man who says no after such a confession, such a perfect apology. Silver screen. Movie moment. People will shake their heads and murmur to each other about how they wish somebody would love _them_ like that; they’ll tell their friends later and exaggerate the story, making it flowery and sweet and rewriting the entire history of it. He wonders if anybody recognizes them, if this’ll be on the forum boards by noon. His eyes well up and he starts crying and he hates himself more than he's ever hated himself before.

“You’re so beautiful, Credence,” Percy says helplessly. “So beautiful and talented and brilliant, and I know you grew up thinking that God fucked up when he made you, but God fucked up when he only made one of you and I can’t let you go. I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t leave you alone. I’m sorry I can’t move on. I know that you’ve changed, and you know that I have too. But no matter who we are or who we become, at the core it’s still the same. And at the core, something fused us together, and you’re a part of me now, and there are pieces of you that I can’t dig out of myself no matter how hard I try.”

Credence clenches both his fists, the sobs shaking through his whole body. He wants to leave. He wants to be on the plane. He wants Caleb to hug him. He wants to crawl into Percy’s bed and never come back out.

Four minutes to boarding.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into all my problems and didn’t let you breathe. I’m sorry I made you think that the pain is what you wanted. Fuck, Credence, I’m sorry I never took you to the eye doctor. I should have taken care of you. I should have known you needed glasses.”

“Percy,” Credence laughs thickly, finally finding his voice again. “You aren’t my father. You had no responsibility to—”

“But I should have,” Percy says, desperate and pleading. “Credence, don’t you get it? I made you depend on me and then I didn’t take care of you the way I should have. And I’m so sorry. Meeting you is the one and only truly good thing that has ever happened to me in this life. The things I did to make you happy are the only things I’ve done that really matter. You are everything to me, still, after seven years.” 

He reaches one hand out and Credence stares at him for a moment before reaching out as well. He doesn’t know why he does it. It’s magnetic. Percy wraps their fingers together and they fit as perfectly as ever. His palm is still cool from the outside air. 

“Please stay,” Percy whispers. “Please don’t go. I want you here, with me. And I know that I’m selfish, and I’m a fuck up, and I hurt you so badly, but I would do anything to keep you close to me.” He squeezes Credence’s hand and they stare at each other for a moment, frozen. And then Percy speaks again.

“Marry me, Credence. Stay in New York. Marry me.”

Oh, no. Oh, no no no. 

He can’t let go fast enough. When their hands come apart, their surroundings come to life again. Suddenly, hundreds of people exist in this room, each one of them with their own life, their own story, their own love and pain and grief and joy. He’s all too aware of it and he wants to close his eyes, wants to cover his ears and block it out and _scream._

But he doesn’t. He just stares blankly. 

Because this is what they’ve come to. They spent the better part of five years hopelessly and brutally in love, so wrapped up in each other that none of those other lives around them existed. They didn’t even think about it. They didn’t even have to. All that existed was the sorrow and elation that bloomed when their bodies touched, that ran like a string of light, connecting them forever. 

And now, after all this time…

Credence blinks, and then Percy is holding something. His eyes flicker downwards and catches the tattered blue cover. _Gatsby._ He thinks about his dog. He thinks about the first time he read the book. He reaches out shakily and takes it, keeping his eyes on Percy the whole time.

“If you’re going to go, I want you to take this.” Percy says. “Take this and don’t forget me. But don’t call. Okay, Credence? If you’re going to go, then I need you to go, and I need you to not come back.”

And it’s over. It’s really, truly over, and somehow it didn’t even feel this _over_ when he hadn’t seen him for seven years. He swallows, but it’s difficult, like there’s an invisible force squeezing down on his throat. Like saying goodbye means dying, because there’s no way they can possibly live apart.

He nods.

Percy looks at him, and Credence sees a flash of every single moment they ever shared dance across his eyes. But then it’s gone, and they’re flat, and his face looks old and tired under the bright fluorescent lights.

 “Okay,” Percy says. “Okay, I’m going to leave now. Goodbye, Credence.”

He turns and walks away.

Credence’s flight started boarding three minutes ago. He doesn’t get back in line. He’ll get a coffee and he’ll empty his stupid head and he’ll call Caleb and apologize and then he’ll rebook his flight, the soonest one possible, it doesn’t matter how much it costs. All that matters is getting there, fixing what he’s done, making everything okay.

He watches Percy walk away. His shoulders are hunched, his head down. It’s almost like the crowd parts around him as he makes his way toward the door.

In his peripheral, Credence sees all those hundreds of lives going on with their day, lining up, checking bags, digging in backpacks for boarding passes. Families grouped together, couples holding hands, people talking on cellphones, eyes on the arrival screen above them. Credence takes in the weight of all the words and faces and feelings floating around him, every life leaving an impression in the air of this room that will stay there long after this building is nothing but dust. 

Thousands of little lives scattered around him, and somehow this is the one he’s ended up with, for better or for worse.

“Percy!” He calls, and he’s sobbing again, but he doesn’t know when it started. It just did. Hot, wet tears roll down his face as he propels himself forward. The crowd doesn’t part for him. He dodges and apologizes and runs toward Percy’s retreating form.

It’s like a nightmare. Percy doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t hear him. He’ll evaporate, he’ll disappear, and Credence will be lost, defeated. He can’t go back to Caleb. The second he started running he knew that without a doubt.

He’s just about to fall to the ground and surrender when Percy turns around.

Credence has one arm outstretched. His eyes wide and unblinking. He stares and Percy stares right back.

“Wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late posting of this one!
> 
> i can't believe it's all done - thank you all so much for your comments, messages and other feedback along the way <3 i hope to someday return to this lil universe!


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